


On the Edge of Disaster

by seductivembrace



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:36:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1233559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seductivembrace/pseuds/seductivembrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of the Slayer's death, the Scoobies fall apart. Spike tries to keep them from falling too far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Spike had no intention of following Harris, he really hadn’t. But, there’d been that promise. And yes, while the Slayer’s entreaty was specifically meant for Dawn, something told him that she had intended all of her friends to be included, so he couldn’t _not_ , in good conscience – and wasn’t _that_ a laugh, unsouled demon that he was – keep them safe. Not with his word to her, hanging over his head. 

So, he watched over them all in the aftermath of the Slayer’s swan song. 

The Niblet was quiet and withdrawn, even in the witches’ company; she’d only taken to coming out of her self-imposed shell when he was nearby. Hence, him being around the house on Revello Drive more and more. He’d taken to sleeping in the basement because more often than not, he’d waited too long to return to his crypt. He should probably just make it official and bring the last of his stuff over before the place was ransacked and just let Clem move in. 

Tara was still recovering from the mind wipe by Glorificus and the subsequent spell cast by Red that had freed her; Red, who was becoming almost annoying in her clinging desperation to keep the other within sight at all times. 

Giles had taken to his bottle, even going through the good stuff in a drunken haze. Often not surfacing for days at time, and those times he’d presented himself he’d been unlike the Giles the others had known – face unshaven, clothes wrinkled as if he’d slept in them and not bothered to change, hair sticking up on end… alcohol seeping out of his pores and assaulting Spike’s delicate sense of smell. 

He was envious of the watcher, his slip into oblivion. 

If not for that damn promise, he would have done the same. 

Which was why he was here now, skulking about in the shadows, watching as Harris walked, shoulders slumped, head down, towards… 

Bloody hell! 

There was no way the boy was going _there_. 

Spike eyed the building and the hidden triskele that proclaimed to all that knew where and how to look, what went on behind the non-descript metal door. Watched as Harris walked right up to it, knocked twice, and was immediately granted entrance… straight into the bowels of hell. 

Xander Bloody Harris had just entered the realm of the best kept secret on the Hellmouth – a demon club that catered to BDSM clientele, those not overly concerned with things like safe words and human limitations. Anything short of death was allowed, and that one concession only because the exclusive club’s healers weren’t powerful enough to bring someone back from the grave. 

Shaking his head, cursing the Slayer once more under his breath, Spike left his hiding place and jogged over to the club. He brought his demon to the fore and banged his fist on the door, leaving the Krit Ick assigned sentry duty in no doubt of his admittance. 

“The boy that was just let in… where was he taken?” Spike growled as the door was closed behind him. Sheer menace made him appear taller than the two feet the other demon had on him. 

The Krit Ick thumbed behind him, and Spike tilted his head to the side to see a narrow hallway shrouded in darkness, a second entrance to the festivities being had below. He straightened and looked the Krit Ick in the eye. 

“I want him.” 

The Krit Ick grunted but nodded. He snapped his meaty fingers and Spike smelt the servant before he actually saw him, a human garbed in leather scraps that covered his loins and a collar that proclaimed that he belonged to another. But it was nothing compared to the bodily fluid that had been rubbed into his skin. 

“Jeff will take you below and see to your needs while you wait. Need I remind you of our rule?” 

“No killing,” Spike replied, like he didn’t have a chip in his head to keep him from doing just that and was conceding the point almost begrudgingly. “I got it. Anything else goes.” 

The Krit Ick just smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

Xander Harris was loud, opinionated, full of false bravado that landed him in trouble more often than not. A white hat through and through. He was _not_ the taciturn man-boy on his knees facing the far wall, garbed in a few tiny bits of leather that did more to accentuate his genitalia than cover it, waiting for a demon to master him.

Spike suppressed a frown as he walked farther into the room and barely noticed the door closing behind him. He was too focused on Harris, taking note of his lack of reaction that he was no longer alone.

The picture he made as his head hung forward, his legs held open by spreader bars attached at his knees and ankles, his arms stretched up over his head almost painfully, was too perfect a picture of submission to keep his demon at bay. The heady aroma of anguish and despair given off, something Spike had not realized he’d missed until being confronted with it so abruptly.

His nostrils flared, his dick got hard, and he took an unconscious step or two forward, blinded by the sheer need to dominate something weaker than him. To administer the pain Harris was clearly begging for. In that moment, he was William the Bloody, slayer of slayers, a master vampire at the top of the food chain.

It came crashing down around him a second later when he remembered the chip.

Frustrated, growling low in his throat, Spike veered off and headed towards the nearby table. He fingered the various implements of tonight’s festivities. Remembered with clarity the damage each one could inflict in the right hands. Angelus had been very thorough in his teachings.

Spike sighed and moved away, shrugged out of his coat and tossed it over the back of a chair. He helped himself to a glass of whiskey and tossed back a shot, and then another, determined to ignore the “please hurt me” vibe being given off by Harris.

Claiming rights to the boy had been a spur of the moment decision on his part. Not one of his better ones, either. Now that he had Xander, Spike wasn’t quite sure what to do.

He couldn’t _not_ hurt the boy; Harris had come here with that in mind, after all. There was no way he could reasonably explain away the distinct lack of bruises on his skin. Then again, he couldn’t actually hurt Harris either. Not without causing himself extreme pain in the process.

He was decidedly fucked.

A bottle of whiskey later and Spike was no closer to figuring things out. What he found strange, though, was that in that time, Xander had yet to move… he’d just knelt there as if being neglected was part of his punishment.

It gave Spike pause, and had him testing his crazy, half-drunken theory.

He stood and walked purposely towards the table. His hand closed around the handle of the coiled whip, and he shook it out and let it fly before he could change his mind.

The crack was extremely loud after the quiet of the past hour.

Spike waited for the accompanying debilitating pain. Even dropped the whip in anticipation of clutching at his head.

It never came.

He stared at the diagonal strip across Harris’ back, and realized that, yes, he had hit him. And, given the small trickles of blood oozing from various places along the jagged mark, he had to have hurt him.

Another thought had Spike striding to the door and yanking it open, shocking Jeff – the human assigned to see to his needs – who was kneeling just outside.

“Are they spelled?” Spike demanded abruptly. Clarifying when the human looked at him in confusion, “The boy. Can he feel pain? If I hurt him—?”

“Of course,” Jeff stammered out before the vampire could finish, determined to defuse his obvious ire. He’d heard the crack against flesh and couldn’t imagine the force behind the blow and didn’t want to give him cause for retaliating. Though Jeff bore the mark of his master, something about the vampire’s demeanor said that it wouldn’t be enough to deter him if provoked. “I mean, if that is what you wish them to feel, they will. You control… that is, well, I mean—”

Spike slammed the door on the human’s fumbled explanation. He felt the demon rise up, felt it stretch and shake off its cage, free at last.

He turned back towards Xander, his eyes narrowed; the corners of his mouth turned upward in a slight smile.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Spike was finished nearly an hour later, Xander’s back was a mangled mess and Spike was high off the human blood he’d lapped at from the numerous slash marks he’d made. Xander hung limply in chains, the pain finally too much for him to remain conscious, and Spike gave a satisfied nod that he’d accomplished his end – or Xander’s end, he wasn’t quite sure – then stumbled away to pour himself another drink. 

His hand shook as he brought the glass to his lips, some of the contents spilling onto his chin as he swallowed a heavy portion of whiskey. The haze of blood and violence lifted somewhat as the alcohol hit his system, and his gaze found its way back to Xander. 

Xander, who had taken everything Spike had dished out without once crying out. Spike frowned as another thought occurred to him, and he set down his glass and crossed the room to confirm his suspicions. The blindfold came away with only a slight tug, and he lifted it to his nose to sniff at it before focusing on Xander’s face. 

His frown deepened. 

Xander hadn’t shed a single tear. 

A knock sounded at the door and Spike barked out a harsh, “Come in!” 

The door opened almost hesitantly to reveal a nervous Jeff, the servant that had been assigned to him. 

“Should I send for the healer?” His eyes touched briefly on Xander. 

It was on the tip of his tongue to say yes, but at the last minute, Spike shook his head. 

“No. Bring me the key to the chains. I’ll see the boy home.” 

“But—” 

“Look, the boy came here because he wanted to be hurt. Fixing him would defeat the purpose.” 

What he didn’t say was that maybe the reminder of the pain Spike had inflicted would linger long enough so that Xander wouldn’t _want_ to come back. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“Bloody hell, Harris,” Spike muttered as he opened Xander’s front door and was bombarded by the stench emanating from the place. “You fire the maid?” 

He got no response, of course. Xander was still out cold and was nothing more than dead weight draped over Spike’s right shoulder. 

“Surprised your demon bird hasn’t put her foot down,” Spike said as he stepped over and around piles of dirty clothes, empty beer bottles, and the odd takeout bag littering the floor and made his way to Xander’s bedroom. 

Although, now that Spike thought about it, Anyanka had been decidedly absent at their bi-weekly meetings except on the rare occasion they were being held at the Magic Box, and even then Xander and Anya had barely said two words to each other in greeting. 

Something he’d not realized until now. 

It made him wonder just what else he was missing. 

Spike stopped in front of the bed, which, unlike everything else in the apartment, was clean and neatly made up; it obviously hadn’t been used in a while. 

“What have you been up to, Harris?” Spike murmured as he dumped the boy on the bed none too gently and proceeded to strip him out of his clothes. Xander didn’t move through all his manhandling – not even a wince – and Spike had to wonder if he’d done the right thing in allowing Xander’s wounds to heal on their own, rather than by magical means… discounting the non-scarring salve he’d been forced to have applied, of course. 

He and the owner of the club had gone round and round. At first the demon had refused to let him leave with Xander, citing the boy’s popularity with some of his best paying customers and that it was still early enough yet for Xander to perform in at least two, maybe three more scenarios. Spike had had to clarify a few things, namely that the boy was off limits to anyone except him – not that he planned on Xander ever returning – and saw that his point was made when the Bin Tok’s eyes started to bulge and his face turned an unnatural shade of purple as it was denied air because of the tight grip Spike had around its neck. 

“Too bloody right I did,” he practically growled, as he settled a sheet over Xander’s lower body, leaving his back open to the air. “You’ll think twice about returning to that place with the pain still fresh in your mind.” 

Or so he hoped. 

Spike left the room with the intention of hanging out on the couch, but the foul smell had him retreating back to the Summers house, first to check on Dawn, then to descend the steps to the basement and the cot he’d taken to using, not bothering to return to his crypt. 

Right now, he needed the reminder of Dawn, and the Slayer’s promise, to keep him from dwelling on what he could have, and so easily. 

The club had been an eye opener. He’d been presented with the Holy Grail in that place – the ability to hurt and maim without consequence – and he’d grabbed at it with both hands without a second thought. He’d reveled in the pain he’d caused and taken it to the limit of Xander’s endurance. 

His demon had crowed with delight each time the whip had landed on Xander’s bare flesh, nostrils flaring wide as the boy’s skin had split and the scent of blood hit the air. He’d tasted perfect, too – just the right amount of anguish and despair. Spike had wanted so much to sink his fangs into Xander’s neck and have himself a good long drink. 

And he’d almost done it there at the end. 

He’d told himself at the beginning that he was just giving Harris what he wanted. That if he didn’t do it, someone else would. But he lied. He’d done it for himself. 

To take back some of his own. To release some of his own pain and sorrow at not having been fast enough, or good enough, to save the Slayer himself. 

It mattered not the reasons why. 

He’d hurt Xander and took pleasure in it. 

God help him if word of what he’d done ever got out. Best case scenario, he’d be denied access to Dawn, the person he’d sworn to the Slayer he’d protect with his life. Worst case, he’d be on the receiving end of a good staking – with Xander at the head of the pack. 

Avoiding that place in the future, and the temptation it provided, was what was important now. 

That and getting to the bottom of Xander’s reasons for being there in the first place.


	4. Chapter 4

Spike lay on the cot, hands tucked behind his head, two different images of Xander juxtaposed in his mind’s eye. Reconciling the submissive human awaiting a demon’s pleasure with the stake-you-as-soon-as-look-at-you Harris he’d known for so long wasn’t easy. 

In fact, it was downright impossible. 

Sighing, knowing sleep would be a long time coming, Spike sat up and fumbled in his discarded duster for his smokes. He lit up and took a deep, calming drag. 

He thought he was doing a good job of holding things together, having picked up the pieces in the wake of the Slayer’s death… but it was all a facade.

The incident with Harris just proved it. 

They were all hanging on by a slim thread – himself included. Dawn, Tara, Red, Giles, Xander, even Anya, all of them were struggling to deal with the aftermath of having saved the world, but at such a great price. 

Though, in Harris’ case, he had to wonder if the boy hadn’t already gone over the edge. The boy had loved the Slayer, unrequited though it was, had even saved her life once, if Angelus was to be believed. Losing her, being unable to save her this time… 

Suddenly apprehensive, Spike sat up and extinguished his cigarette, grabbed his duster and left the basement. 

The streets were deserted; humans were long since tucked up in their beds, and demons had moved on from feeding to other pleasures. 

He wasn’t sure why he was walking back to Harris’ place, it was just a feeling he had, and he’d not lived as long as he had to start disregarding them now. 

As Spike walked down the hallway, he knew right away that Harris wasn’t there. Still, he broke the lock off and did a cursory search of the place for some clue as to where he might have gone, his last stop being the bedroom. 

The clothes he’d taken off Harris earlier were gone; the bed had been stripped and neatly remade with fresh sheets. Spike raised his eyebrow at that but couldn’t fathom why the boy would do such a thing. 

Growling low and long, Spike kicked at the garbage that littered the floor out of his way as he stormed back out into the night. He didn’t want to be out rescuing Harris, especially when it was becoming obvious to Spike that the boy didn’t want to be saved. 

An image of the Slayer, her expression solemn as she’d asked for his help, crystallized in his mind. The constant, heavy burden she shouldered had eased somewhat as he’d said yes. Made him now sniff the air and set out on what was probably a fool’s errand. Come hell or high water, he’d retrieve Xander, and if need be, lock him up and provide twenty-four hour surveillance until he got his crazy notions out of his head. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

The one good thing in Spike’s favor was that Harris had still been oozing blood from the various marks on his back and would be fairly easy to track. The downside was that those same marks were like a neon sign to anything else still out and about. Combine that with the “hurt me” vibes he was giving off and it would take a miracle if the boy came out of his nighttime jaunt unscathed. 

Luck appeared to be on his side – or on the side of good, at least – because he didn’t encounter Xander’s beaten and broken body in any alley. In fact, the boy’s trail was eerily unencumbered by any of the creatures that roamed the night. 

When Xander’s scent once more led him out of town, Spike increased his pace until he was all but running. 

_Surely Harris wasn’t stupid enough to go back to—?_

Apparently so. 

Blood didn’t lie. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike broke the front door down with a violent roundhouse kick when he felt his summons wasn’t answered soon enough. Precious minutes were then wasted dealing with the Krit Ick when it wasn’t forthcoming with Xander’s whereabouts. 

Deciding he’d get no answers from the demon, Spike broke the thing’s neck – not an easy task given the height difference – and strode down into the inner sanctum of the club. 

Human servants were lined up like little pods on their knees outside each door. There were too many different scents to distinguish Harris’, and Spike was left with no choice but to check each room. 

Halfway down Spike hit pay dirt, after having left anxious humans and disgruntled demons in his wake. The commotion was sure to bring reinforcements, and soon. 

Spike didn’t care though; he was too intent on stopping what was about to happen. 

“Touch the boy with that thing, and I’ll rip it off and shove it down your throat.” 

The demon either didn’t hear the underlying menace in Spike’s tone, or figured his considerable bulk was more than enough match for him. “Piss off, vampire. This one here’s mine. Go find your own human to fuck.” He grabbed his dick and made to thrust it in the human’s hole but never got the chance. 

Spike was a blur as he flew across the room, and true to his word, wrenched the demon’s cock from his body with an enraged roar, every bit the master vampire he was reputed to be. The demon howled in pain and clutched his hands to his crotch; his legs gave out and he fell to his knees, blood spilling out on the floor around him. 

His agony was so great, he didn’t hear Spike whisper in his ear… right before he shoved the mutilated cock held in his hand down the demon’s throat. 

“Wrong, mate. The boy is _mine_.”


	5. Chapter 5

Spike didn’t trust himself to say anything to Harris as he unbuckled the various fastenings holding him in place; his demon was too close to the surface to warrant any type of rational conversation. He knew if he opened his mouth, he’d finish what the other demon had started and to hell with Harris’ emotional state. Instead, he let loose the last clasp with a violent yank, grabbed the boy around his arm and hauled him to his feet. 

Harris would have fallen if not for Spike’s quick reflexes and the hand that had yet to completely let him go, and he clenched his jaw in anger as he awkwardly shrugged out of his duster, draped it around Harris’ shoulders, and hauled the boy closer against his side to steady him on his feet. 

No one stopped him as he exited the club with Harris in tow. No one dared – not after the ease with which he’d dealt with anything that had crossed his path upon entering.

Spike would have killed for a cigarette as he practically dragged Harris back to his apartment. His temper was on a finger trigger and he desperately needed the hit of nicotine to help calm him down. It was just bad luck on his part that his hands were otherwise occupied keeping Harris upright and moving. 

Frustrated, he stomped down the street, muttering to his almost-catatonic companion under his breath. He didn’t get a response, and he didn’t expect one either. Harris was in his own world and wasn’t responding to any type of outward stimuli. Hadn’t been since he’d been released from the wooden table he’d been strapped to. 

The boy’s expression was blank, as were his eyes. His movements were rote, and Spike had no doubt that if he stopped and let go of him, Harris would just stand there unmoving. It was as if he didn’t exist, at least not more than in the strictest physical sense. Like everything that made Harris _Harris_ , was gone. Having been released from the demon bent on sodomizing him had apparently sent the boy retreating behind a mental barrier where not even his feelings of despair and pain leaked through.

Spike was at a loss at the boy’s bizarre behavior, and he could clearly feel the strain of the promise to the Slayer weighing heavily on his shoulders. Everything was falling apart around him and he had no idea how to fix things… with Harris, or with anyone else. 

He wasn’t about to give up though, so he continued on until he’d led the boy home. Settled him on the couch instead of his own bed, not about to make the same mistake twice by leaving him in the bedroom. 

“Stay put, Harris,” he told him, having replaced his duster with a blanket. His nose crinkled in distaste once more at the smell emanating from the room; he was going to have to break down and do something about the stench if he was going to be spending the next few days in the boy’s home. 

Spike cast one last glance over his shoulder before he let himself out of the apartment. The boy hadn’t moved, and he just had to hope that he would continue to do nothing until after he’d taken care of a few things. 

His first stop was Willy’s where he put in a word to have Clem find him at Xander’s home before the sun came up. Confident his message would reach the demon, he set out for Revello Drive. He needed to pick up his things from there and inform the witches that he would be away for a few days. 

He didn’t say where or why when he spoke with Tara. She was the only one awake when he let himself in through the kitchen door, nightmares of Glorificus’ brain sap often waking her in the wee hours of the morning. He told her to look out for Dawn while he was gone, to call him on his cell phone in case of an emergency. Tara had nodded solemnly, and there’d been no mistaking her relief when he’d said he’d only be gone for a few days. 

Spike wondered, yet again, how he’d become the glue that was holding them all together.


	6. Chapter 6

Clem was waiting for Spike when he got back to Xander’s apartment. Spike grunted a hello and used his shoulder to push the door open. His arms were laden with a huge cardboard box, filled to near overflowing of things he’d acquired, except for the table that was being dropped off in an hour – everything he needed to make the boy stay put, and keep him out of trouble until he came to his senses and started acting like Xander again. 

“Come on in… just watch your step. The place is a pig sty.” 

He could practically hear Clem’s nostrils crinkle in distaste as he stepped over the threshold and pushed the door closed. Not that Spike blamed him. He’d refrained from breathing from the moment he’d climbed the last step and had started walking down the hall. 

“Beer’s in the fridge,” he called out over his shoulder as he walked towards the overly-large closet to store his box of supplies. “Grab two and I’ll join you in a minute.” 

Spike had finished his first beer and gotten up to get a second before he explained to Clem what he wanted. 

“Need someone to come round the place. Clean it up.” 

“Got a cousin. Nancy,” Clem replied. “She’s got a passel of young ‘uns and could use the break. Shouldn’t take her long. Few hours at the most.” 

“I’ll pay her a decent wage.” 

“She’d appreciate that. I’ll swing by her place later… have her come over in the morning?” 

“Yeah…” Spike’s voice trailed off and his eyes strayed to the couch, narrowed his gaze like he could see through it to where Xander lay stretched out sleeping. “Boy’s probably gone off and lost his job. Need you to look into it for me. Have someone put in a word for him. Dead aunt or some such.” 

“Alright.” 

“Not sure how long it’s gonna be either,” Spike said, still staring off into the living room. “Boy’s got—he’s…” _Broken. Damaged. Fallen off the deep end._ “He’s… I’m not sure what he is. He’s not right, I do know that much.” 

Clem nodded, saying nothing. He was no stranger to a person’s grief. Living on the hellmouth wasn’t the safest of places, especially one with a slayer in residence. Or one that used to be in residence. There’d been no sign of the Slayer’s replacement as yet, though he’d heard rumors of one doing hard time out in California. 

“Gonna try and fix him though. Promised the Slayer I would.” And that promise was an albatross around his neck. Steadily squeezing. 

“It’s a good thing you’re doing, Spike. Looking after the Slayer’s friends,” Clem said after some time and another round of beers – there’d been no shortage of the glass bottles in the refrigerator. 

If Clem found out what Spike had done to Xander, or what he planned on doing to the boy now, he doubted his friend would continue to think that way. Then again, Clem _was_ a demon, if a rather harmless one. 

“Yeah… well…” He changed the subject. “Need you to stay here for a few. Broke the lock off earlier and I really don’t feel right leaving the boy here all alone until it’s fixed.”

What he didn’t say was that he didn’t trust Xander to still be at home if he was left by himself for any length of time. 

“Sure thing, Spike.” 

“Shouldn’t be gone too long,” Spike said as he stood. “Couple hours at most.” 

Spike was hoping for an hour… tops. He and the Bin Tok were going to have a little chat. And, if the demon didn’t see things his way… well, he still had some anger issues to work out. 

He was half hoping the club owner wouldn’t see things his way. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

When Spike got back to Xander’s, he wasn’t surprised to see that the lock on the door had been replaced. Clem’s contacts were far-reaching, and it was just like the demon to be helpful and fix things where he could. 

“Your boy’s still asleep,” Clem said as he met him at the door. 

Spike’s brow went up at the “your boy” comment, but he didn’t correct his friend. He bid Clem goodbye then walked over to stand behind the couch and stared down at Xander. His expression softened at seeing him in the same position Spike had left him in. In sleep, Xander looked peaceful… not the troubled boy he had become in the wake of the Slayer’s death. 

His brows drew together, and his face became grim. 

He didn’t want to carry out the plan he’d set in motion, but to do nothing— 

_No!_

Spike shook his head. He wasn’t going to lose Xander to his demons. Damned if he wasn’t! 

The Slayer’s family had become his at some point over the past year, and while they all got on his nerves at times – most times, if he was truthful – they were still his. 

“It’s for your own good, Harris,” Spike murmured as he rounded the corner and bent down and lifted Xander in his arms.


	7. Chapter 7

Spike was staring unseeing at the television in the living room when there was a knock on the door. He glanced at the clock on the wall, notated its time and the fact that he’d lost what remained of the night trying to come to terms with the course he’d set for Xander. And the role he was about to play. He just prayed that it would work.

Another knock, hesitant this time, and Spike reluctantly pushed his way to his feet and headed for the door. 

Nancy was standing on the other side when he opened it and she gave a brief deferential bow of her head as he motioned her inside. Both of her hands were laden down with cleaning supplies teeming out of two deep buckets.

“Where would you like me to start?” Nancy asked as she stepped over the entryway and paused in the small foyer. She’d yet to see the condition of the apartment, and Spike wondered if Clem let her know the extent of the damage. Possible, given the sheer quantities of bottles shoved into the buckets.

Spike shut the door and led her to the kitchen. “Here’s as good a place as any. I’ll get out of your way. Don’t worry about the two bedrooms; they’re not as bad at the rest of the place. Just knock on the door,” he gestured to the master bedroom, “when you’re finished.”

At her nod, Spike retreated to the bedroom and shut the door, stripped out of his clothes and fell into bed. He was exhausted, physically and mentally. He only hoped he’d be able to sleep. Sleep without the nightmares that had him waking on a silent scream, day after day after day.

Since the night the Slayer had died.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike jerked awake at the knock on the door. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table and was surprised to see that it was only late afternoon. Was even more surprised at how rested he felt. 

That paled in comparison to seeing the condition of Xander’s apartment once he was dressed in a pair of jeans, sans shirt, and opened the bedroom door. Clem’s cousin had done wonders with the place. He pulled a few hundred dollar bills out of his pocket and handed them over, making arrangements for her to swing by once a week until further notice and keep the place tidy. A murmur of agreement, a quick, respectful bow of her head, and she was hurrying out the door, leaving Spike standing alone in the living room. 

A barely perceptible scraping sound came from the second bedroom and Spike walked over and opened the door. 

The scene was straight out of one of Spike’s fantasies – of days long past when the chip wasn’t a huge factor in his life – and he couldn’t help but get hard at the picture of Xander naked, hanging in chains, his body language reeking of misery and untold suffering. Pain was a pungent, but oh so very delicious, taste in his mouth and Spike inhaled again. 

He moved across the room and pressed his naked chest into Xander’s back, delighting in the raised skin from the whip he’d used the other night. Even knowing the marks would be gone in another day or two couldn’t diminish his pleasure of the pain he’d wrought. The pain Xander seemed to expect as his due. 

Spike leaned forward and lapped at Xander’s neck, not surprised when fangs replaced blunt teeth in his mouth. He bit gently into soft flesh, all the while waiting for the chip to fire and give him the mother of all headaches, but again… nothing. Not even a warning zap. 

Other than a slight inhalation of breath, there was nothing out of Xander either. He remained passive in Spike’s arms. Even when his hand dropped to Xander’s groin and began massaging his cock, quickly stroking him to hardness. 

Pheromones mixed with despair and perfumed the air. Spike inhaled deeply and forced himself to quit feeding from Xander’s neck lest he pass out from blood loss. He wanted the boy awake for what came next. Reluctantly he laved at the puncture wounds, marveling all the while that he was able to drink from the source, knowing that it was probably Xander’s state of mind that allowed him to do so. 

Still. 

He’d take it and enjoy every moment he could until Xander was back to being his pain-in-the-ass self. The chip once more the safety net it was intended. 

It probably spoke to Spike’s own state of mind, how close he himself was to the edge, that he _was_ going to take advantage. 

Hell, maybe when Xander was better, he’d stake Spike. Put him out of his misery. A promise wouldn’t have to hold true if he was dust.

For now, he had a job to do, that damn promise to keep, so he walked to the table and grabbed the whip Xander seemed to crave so much. Gave the boy the pain he needed, wanted. Worked his back, butt, and legs, then spun him around and started on his front. Added fresh welts to those that had just started to fade.

Spike didn’t stop until long after Xander hung limp in the chains. 

Disgusted with himself, he threw the whip against the wall, stalked towards Xander, and carefully disengaged the cuffs securing his hands in place. Caught the boy as he fell into his arms. Another frustrated sound left his mouth as he easily swung Xander up into his arms, pivoted on his heels and headed into the master bedroom. 

Spike laid Xander face up on the bed and retrieved the healing concoction he’d obtained from the club. He wanted the boy to feel the pain of the beating – and there at the end, Spike really had been beating him – but didn’t want his skin permanently scarred. Critical eyes took in the sheer number of welts, a few of them open and oozing blood, and started massaging the healing salve into his skin. The marks that were open, Spike lapped at with his tongue first until they closed over before applying the medication. 

The process was then repeated on Xander’s other side.

Afterward, Spike forced himself to get off the bed and moved to the door. Xander made too much of a tempting picture splayed out on his belly. His dick hurt where it pressed against the front of his jeans. He wanted nothing more than to drop trou, stroke himself to a quick release, and spray Xander’s back with his cum. Barring that, kneel between the boy’s outstretched legs, pull him up and onto his cock, and fuck him into oblivion, his and Xander’s. 

Which is why he remained rooted where he was, his hands gripping the door jambs until the wood threatened to crack and snap off. His plan was pain, pure and simple. He wanted to bring the boy back into the here and now, force him to deal with the Slayer’s death, rather than wallow inside his own mind, his own misery, his own guilt. 

His idea sounded fucked up, even to himself. But better him delivering the “punishment” Xander seemed to crave, rather than some demon at a club that cared not one whit for his welfare.


	8. Chapter 8

Spike was dreaming. He had to be. He’d not felt the sun on his body in over a hundred years, and to feel it now on his cock. Yeah, he had to be dreaming…

His eyes flew open.

_… or not._

Xander knelt between his splayed legs where Spike sat sprawled in the corner of the couch, having apparently dozed off watching television. The boy’s face was hidden as he sucked Spike’s cock down to the root. 

Somehow, Spike’s fingers found their way into Xander’s hair. Held the boy in place as he thrust up once, twice. A groan – Spike’s own – sounded in his ears. Damn but the boy had learned a few things since taking center stage in a BDSM club.

And just like that, Spike shoved Xander away. He was glad he did, because when he looked down, there was no light of recognition in Xander’s eyes. He could have been any one of the demons in the club that had given Xander his penance, compounding the misery already seeping from his pores.

_Bloody fuck!_

Standing, Spike shoved his cock back in his jeans and took care in closing the buttons. Damn, but he ached. But as he stared down at Xander, he knew he wouldn’t seek relief that way. Wouldn’t be some anonymous means of degradation. 

No matter how much the boy wanted it.

Frustrated, Spike ran his fingers through his hair as he stalked into the kitchen and retrieved a beer. Cold. American. But, whatever. Only when he finished the bottle did he glance back into the living room. Xander was still crouched on the floor where Spike had shoved him. Gnashing his teeth, Spike growled for the boy to get in the kitchen. Surprise of surprises, he rose to his feet and walked towards Spike, head down, shoulders hunched, no evidence of the pain he obviously had to be in noticeable in his steady – if slow – gait.

Spike wasn’t sure the last time Harris had eaten, but it had obviously been a while since the weight he’d gained in recent months was now gone. In fact, now that Spike had a chance to look, _really_ look, he could appreciate what he saw. And he saw a lot as the boy hadn’t bothered to dress when he woke up after his short nap. Wide shoulders; narrow waist; long, lean legs – Xander’s body had matured into that of a well-cut man. A very attractive man. Who knew? 

“Sit!” He pointed to one of the chairs tucked into the table in the overly-large kitchen. 

Xander sat.

Of course he sat, Spike grumbled to himself as he turned to the refrigerator and rummaged for something to make. Eggs, toast, juice – simple enough. Another barked command and Xander ate.

God, he missed the old Harris.

He wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up without falling over the edge too.

God help them all then.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike stayed in the kitchen until Xander had finished his food and drank the juice. When he just continued to stare at his empty plate, Spike sighed and grabbed it, the glass, and utensils and dropped them in the sink for Nancy to clean on her next visit. Cooking he could cope with; he drew the line at cleaning. The dishes clanked loudly, but Xander never flinched. Frustrated, Spike grabbed another beer and left the room. Figured the television had to have something more entertaining than watching Xander stare at nothing.

Remote in hand, Spike flicked through the channels, finally settling on a sports channel since it was broadcasting American soccer. The game was nearly over when he finally heard the chair in the kitchen scrape against the floor, as if Xander had stood up. Spike watched out of the corner of his eye as he walked into the bathroom and took care of business, came out afterwards and stood there in the doorway, hesitating. Finally he turned and walked into the second bedroom. 

_Great!_ , Spike thought sarcastically. He finished off his beer, put the empty on the side table and pushed his way to his feet. Followed Xander into the smaller bedroom. 

He wasn’t surprised to see the boy spread eagle over the table, wrists lying in the open shackles. He could only wonder how often Xander visited the club before Spike had caught wind of it, and how often the owner made him suffer customers before kicking him out until the next time. 

“Please,” Xander whispered, begged, when Spike just stood there staring. His face was turned away, but Spike could easily picture his desperation. Nostrils flaring, angry at the boy and himself because of what he was about to do, he strode to the table and strapped Xander in. Stepped back a pace or two and took in the sight of him bound and helpless. He felt the demon rise up, take control. 

Somehow a knife appeared in his hand. Then he was standing at the edge of the table, making the first cut into Xander’s flesh. 

The smell of blood went straight to his head… and his cock. As did the fact that he could do this. Make Xander hurt. Make him bleed. 

He leaned over and lapped at the cut. Tossed the knife aside and used fangs instead. Neck, shoulder, inner thigh. He drank until he was near drunk on the taste. So, so close to the edge…

It was the second please that brought Spike to his senses, kicked the demon into retreat. 

Damned if he’d grant Xander his death wish. 

Not today.

He wrenched the handcuffs open and carried Xander into the other bedroom. Set him on his feet and shoved him towards the bed. 

Surprisingly Xander froze in front of him, frantically shaking his head in the negative. 

Spike didn’t know whether to frown at his disobedience or smile at the emotion being exhibited. 

He smiled. 

“Get in bed, Xander.”

More negative head shaking and frantic steps away from the bed until his back was plastered up against Spike’s front. 

“You’re tired. You need to rest,” he said, gripping Xander’s arms and shuffling him closer to the bed. 

Like a light switch had been flicked on, Xander exploded. Pushed against Spike in an attempt to get away from the bed. Spike managed to get his arms around the boy and turned him around. His eyes showed his horror, but not of what. A quick glance around the room showed nothing out of the ordinary. No reason for Xander’s panic attack.

“Right. Fine,” he finally said, pulling the boy into a hug, shushing him to silence. “No bed. How about we stretch out on the couch?” 

The tension drained out of Xander until Spike was practically holding him upright. Thankfully the couch was wide enough to accommodate them both. 

Spike steered Xander out of the bedroom and towards the couch. He grabbed a blanket out of the closet on the way. A few quick tugs and pulls had him out of his clothes and he settled against the back of the couch and pulled Xander down in front of him. The boy was back to offering no resistance. He got the blanket draped over them both, wrapped his arms around Xander’s middle, and closed his eyes. 

A smile curved his lips when he felt the boy snuggle back against him.

All things considered, he counted today as a win.


	9. Chapter 9

When Spike woke this time, Xander was trying to screw himself back onto his cock. His hands found the boy’s hips and held him away. He was going to develop a case of blue balls if this kept up!

Somehow he managed to shift over Xander and stand without any more friction to his dick. He gave some serious thought to having a wank in the shower. Anything to give his balls some relief… well, anything besides doing what Xander was begging for, like fuck him good and proper. 

“Should have earned a halo and some wings by now,” he muttered as he stalked off to the bathroom. Thankfully Xander didn’t follow. It was no one’s business but his own that he imagined his hand was Xander’s mouth, that he came embarrassingly quickly, that his legs barely held him upright in the aftermath. He’d bit his lip to keep from shouting the boy’s name. 

“Bathroom’s free,” he said as he stepped out wrapped in a towel, the second used to dry his hair. 

The room was empty and Spike nearly panicked before he heard faint noises coming from the second bedroom. Saw red when he stepped into the room and saw what Xander was doing. 

The towel fell away as he flew across the room and flipped Xander face up onto the table. The large butt plug, the one he’d been trying to shove up his hole dry, went flying across the room, smacked against the wall, and fell harmlessly to the floor. He secured Xander to the table, both arms and legs this time, and then walked out of the room. 

If he didn’t calm down first, he’d give the boy what he wanted and damn the consequences. 

~*~*~*~*~

An hour and nearly a pack of cigarettes later, Spike felt calm enough to reenter the bedroom. He walked around the room putting things to rights, grabbed the butt plug off the floor and tossed it back into the box with all the other goodies he’d acquired. 

Xander was aware of his presence, just as Spike was aware of his. 

Finally he walked up to the table and ran his hand up Xander’s bare inner thigh. Then up higher to cup his balls. His touch was gentle rather than forceful. A soft caress a lover would give. He watched Xander’s cock get hard. Smiling, he leaned over and lapped at the pearly drop of fluid that formed at the head. 

“ _No…_ ”

“Sorry, boy. You don’t get to say no. This is what I want and what you’ll take.”

Another lick and Xander’s hips unconsciously lifted from the table. Spike smiled right before swallowing him down. Sucked him fast, slow… grazed him with a fang. Brought him to the edge of orgasm again and again, only to back off and build him back up. Waiting… waiting…

Until finally his name was whispered aloud, and the sweet smell of salt assaulted his nostrils.

Spike took Xander in his mouth to the back of his throat, swallowed.

And the boy broke.

When Xander was spent, Spike pulled back and undid the restraints. The floodgates had opened now, and Spike gathered the boy in his arms and carried him into the other bedroom. No protest was made about the bed this time – made a mental note to ask about it at some point – though the tears fell in earnest now. 

He got them both settled under the covers and Xander curled against his side. Murmured soothing nonsense as he stroked a hand along Xander’s back. 

It was a long time before Spike finally spoke.

“Death was her gift, Harris. You’ve no right to throw it back in her face.”

“I couldn’t save her. This time… I… I couldn’t…” Tears continued to fall, soaking Spike’s shoulder. 

“Neither could I. No matter how much I wanted to.” It hurt to say it. Damn near made his throat close over. “She was the slayer. It was her job to protect us, not the other way around.”

“It’s not fair.”

“No. No, it’s not.” 

What else could he say without stating the obvious? Slayers had a short lifespan. Buffy was luckier than most to have lived as long as she had. Her swan song has saved the world. Again.

Xander’s tears finally dried and he soon drifted off to sleep. Spike waited a while to make sure the boy wouldn’t wake before easing out of the bed. He walked into the living room and grabbed his pants, pulled them on then retrieved his phone out of the pocket and called Dawn, telling her he’d be home before the sun came up. 

He rang off and called Clem next. The demon arrived within the hour and was able to cart off the paraphernalia in the second bedroom. He didn’t want to leave any reminder of how far Xander had fallen. Or tempt him back to the edge. 

Better to put it behind him. 

Which is why after checking on Xander one last time, Spike gathered his things and left the apartment too. 

~*~*~*~*~

Somehow Spike found himself standing at Buffy’s gravesite rather than Revello Drive, staring down at her tombstone. She had saved the world a lot, especially this last time. 

It seemed only fair that he try and save her friends.

“I’ll do better next time,” he promised, as he knelt down and placed the wildflowers against the tombstone. “Harris was… Harris was in a bad way. I didn’t know how else to get through to him, luv. The witches, Red especially… I just… I don’t know how to fix this. Dawn acts like she’s okay, until she’s not. I’m struggling, Slayer. I’m not gonna lie. Gotta tell ya. You picked the wrong—”

A cough had him whirling around. He found Xander standing under a nearby tree, nervous, uncomfortable, and trying not to show it. 

He glared at the sky over his shoulder, sure that the Slayer was having a good laugh at his expense. “Hell of a partner you picked, Slayer. Hope you know what you’re doing.”

With that parting remark, he headed towards Xander. Stopped when he was a few feet in front of him. 

“Harris.”

“Spike.”

“Was on my way to see the Bit. Been gone the last few days and she worries.”

“Mind if I come with?”

In answer Spike started walking. Gestured for him to join.

They were almost to the house when Spike spoke again, “Uh… any chance you didn’t hear?”

“What? You talking with Buffy? No. Sorry. Heard every word.”

Spike walked up the sidewalk and stomped up the stairs.

Xander placed a hand on his shoulder before he could open the door.

“I want to help, Spike. If you’ll let me. You shouldn’t have to do this all alone.”

Spike looked back at Xander. 

“It’s what Buffy would have wanted.”

Somewhere in there, he sensed Xander’s unspoken thank you. Spike swallowed the lump in his throat, looked skyward for a brief moment then ruefully shook his head.

“Come on then.”

For the first time in a long while, Xander smiled.


End file.
